by Duncan James
***
Bragan had just finished speaking to Robert Burgess when his Chief of Staff walked in.
“Absolutely nothing new on Northern Ireland, either across the Atlantic or here,” he announced. “There’s apparently still no sign of the cash from the last two fund raising dinners, which Sinn Fein promised to give to the New York Appeal Fund, so I think we can kiss that goodbye - they’ve probably bought more Semtex with it by now. But I can’t think the Prime Minister would want to talk about that specially. We’ve already had an exchange of views on the subject, and each understands where the other stands. It’s still our call to do something, though, if ever we can work out what. But there’s nothing on the Intelligence network at all that we don't already know about. No Sigint or anything - not that we listen to everything, as you know. We usually get what we want just by asking, and what we don’t ask about they usually tell us, anyway. I’ve checked with the Political Affairs Under Secretary too, and there’s nothing on their net either.”
“As I thought,” said Bragan, “but thanks anyway. In that case, we’ll just have to wait until we’re told.”
“What do you think it’s all about?” asked Harvey.
“Greg, I wish I knew,” replied the Secretary of State. “I have a hunch - no more than that - but I’m not even going to share that with you at this stage, if you don’t mind. If I’m half right, though, that wily Prime Minister is cooking up a scheme for dealing with Northern Ireland once and for all. A third party both sides in Northern Ireland would be happy to deal with could be what he’s looking for and what he wants to talk about. Whatever he has in mind, it looks like it is going to involve us in a big way. We shall see.”
Carlucci knocked, and stuck his head round the door.
“I’ve been summoned, again,” he said. “The old man’s getting back on the phone to London, and wants me there. I'll let you know what happens, although I expect you’ll be summoned too, soon. Anything from your chair?”
“Nothing. And I mean nothing - ops. and int. haven’t had a smell of anything new for weeks, so we’re still groping for ideas, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll tell him. I haven’t been able to talk to Sir Robin - he’s with the Prime Minister, and has been for ages. Since this morning’s call, in fact. Something’s up, no doubt.”
“Maybe you’ll get a clue in a minute, Colin,” said Bragan hopefully.
“You’ll be the first to know,” said Carlucci, and disappeared towards the Oval Office.
Bragan's intercom went. It was the President.
“Can you spare a minute, Miles?” he asked. “I’m just getting back to Tony Weaver.”
***